


The Get Along Shirt

by Nisaki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, First Time, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Something Made Them Do It, Top Dean, many sex positions, set in season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21928948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/pseuds/Nisaki
Summary: Dean can’t answer, his eyes are fixed on the contents of the drawer, namely: Flavoured lube and a manual for gay sex, titledThe Twelve Sex Positions You Need to Spice up Your Life + One Classic You Were Doing Wrong.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 58
Kudos: 332





	The Get Along Shirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doilycoffin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doilycoffin/gifts).



> Written for the wonderful, Eve. Happy birthday, dear! Thank you for another wonderful year with you. I love you and I hope you enjoy this <3
> 
> Huge thank you to [AlulaSpeaks ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlulaSpeaks/pseuds/AlulaSpeaks) for the speedy beta, couldn't have done it without you!
> 
> As always a kiss to [laughablelament](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament/works?fandom_id=27&page=2) cause she’s the best.

The mattress he’s sleeping on is more comfortable than he’s used to, but that’s not the first thing he notices upon waking up. He’s holding someone, a warm body plastered to his chest, heavy and solid. The smell of her hair is familiar, smells like Sammy’s fancy shampoo. 

Sammy. 

He jumps out of the bed, eyes wide and heart racing. He’s butt naked, and the room is too nice and clean to be the one they rented, not to mention the king bed they were sharing. Fucking Naked. 

Sam groans, pulls the covers higher over his shoulder, nuzzles the pillow. Dean stares, waiting for the moment it kicks in. A second later, Sam’s eyes shoot open and he springs up, looking down at himself with horror. Slowly he drags his gaze over the bed, the clean, fuzzy-looking creamy carpet then his eyes lock on Dean, who is still standing there in nothing but his skin. 

Something clicks and Sam hurries to look away, blushing. Dean is a bit fascinated by the reaction, because they never were shy around each other, especially when they’re angry. Perhaps it’s the one bed. He wants to run and dress fast, but that’ll look lame and he’s still a bit pissed from yesterday, so he strolls into the bathroom, takes a leak, brushes his teeth and washes his face. Sam is in a t-shirt and gray jeans and he’s examining his hands like they might tell him what happened. When he notices that Dean is out, he takes his turn in the bathroom. 

Their duffels are sitting on a couch, and Dean stops again to take in the room they’re in. Expensive is the first word that comes to mind. He puts on jeans and t-shirt, throws over his flannel, immediately feeling better once he’s got his layers on. The bathroom door doesn’t creak, not that kind of place, but Dean can see the movement in his peripheral vision. They walk in sync, sit on the edge of the bed, both of them tangling their hands in front of them. The space between them more than they’re used to, but Dean supposes it’s suitable since they’re not talking and all.

An uncomfortable period of silence passes. Dean contemplents giving up and speaking first, but Sam was the one to start the silent treatment, so he grits his teeth and waits. Sam sighs.

“Did we get drunk?” Sam asks, and from the tone of his voice, he doesn’t think they did. Dean breathes out in relief. Ok. So they’re calling a truce, awesome. 

“No hangover,” Dean points out. They nod a bit, Dean makes to speak, closes his mouth again.

“Let’s search the room.” Sam gets up, starts snooping around. Dean follows suit. They put some effort into staying on different ends of the room, moving around each other without brushing close, and if feels weird. Dean didn’t notice how physically close they walked and worked together, but now that they’re not. Well, damn, no wonder people keep asking them if they want a King. He snorts, eyes darting to the one bed in the center of the room. How the hell did they end up here after deciding to not talk to each other unless they’re working is a mystery. They were naked, all their stuff are here, both showered and unharmed. It doesn’t feel like kidnapping in the least. 

There’s nothing out of the ordinary, at first glance but Sam calls his name at the same time that Dean opens the nightstand drawer.

“Dean,” Sam says, but Dean can’t answer, his eyes are fixed on the contents of the drawer, namely: Flavoured lube and a manual for gay sex, titled  _ The Twelve Sex Positions You Need to Spice up Your Life + One Classic You Were Doing Wrong _ . What the fuck happened last night, the question is on repeat, and panic raises in his chest. Did he make a move on Sam?

“Dean,” Sam sounds a bit annoyed now. Dean is reaching in, taking the manual out, his eyes seemingly glued to it.

“Dean!” Sam snaps.

“Yes, what!” 

“The door won’t open.” To prove it, Sam turns the handle many times, pulls the door and true to his words, it stays locked. Dean’s panic despitates, and he almost laughs at how fucked up his life is. Better being kidnapped than him pulling some shit that he can’t even remember. A locked door means someone’s out there, someone he can shoot and get past.

“Break it.” 

Sam nods, waits for Dean to get their guns ready, accepting his before he gives the door one of his best kicks. 

Nothing. 

Sam’s face turns into a sour expression, he takes a step back then throws himself shoulder first at the door. Once again, the door doesn’t even rattle. Dean narrows his eyes, he hasn’t seen many wooden doors that could withstand Sam. 

“Move,” he says. Sam does. Dean levels his gun and shoots the lock. Once, twice, three times. 

“Dean, enough. It obviously isn’t working.”

“So what, we’re stuck here?” 

Sam shrugs, his lips pinched to a line. Dean clicks the safety on and places his gun on the nightstand, his eyes making another sweep over the place.

“No windows,” he remarks. Sam opens the fridge.

“It’s stocked.”

Dean hums. “Beer?”

“Nothing Alcoholic,” Sam says apologetically. Dean huffs, throws himself back at the bed. A few moments pass, Dean hears the drawer being pulled. He opens one eye, ready to see one of Sam’s bitch faces, but Sam’s face is something closer to horrified, his cheeks so red they might as well be on fire. Dean sits up and Sam shoves the thing back into place, slamming the drawer and turning around, still blushing and with that caught look on his face. 

Dean lifts a brow, Sam ducks his head and walks away. 

Okay then.

“So how are we gonna get out of here?” he says, back to Dean.

“I’m glad you asked,” A familiar voice says and they both jump to face it. The TV is on, and the man on it, leering at them is non other than the fucking Trickster.

“You!” Dean shouts, pointing. “I killed you back in...Ohio.”

Well damn, they were heading to Ohio for a hunt, then they started fighting over shit then they went to bed. 

“You made us fight again?” Dean’s voice comes out a bit desperate, he’s clinging to this because he knows it’s his fault, and he can’t apologise. Because then he must give a reason to why he said what he did, and he fucking can’t. So he shamelessly wants to throw the blame at someone and move on. Sam crosses his arms, glaring at the TV. The Trickster rolls his eyes. 

“No. This fight is all you, boys. I’m here to help, actually.”

“Right,” Dean scoffs. “Let us go, now.”

“Nuh uh, not so fast. See boys, you and all that anger and tension isn’t working well for me. You have to be all in love according to the general plan.” 

“What plan?” Sam says, sounding distressed. Dean scowls. He’d had enough of secret plans for Sam.

“There’s no fucking plan, let us go!”

“Dean, Dean. Always ready to assume the worst. This,” he makes a gesture with his hand, pointing to the room. “Is your version of the Get Along Shirt. You can’t leave unless you make up.”

“We did.” Dean says.

“Sam? Did you make up?” The Trickster prompts. Dean holds his breath. Sam looks around the room, purses his lips. He takes a breath then the fight seems to drain out of him, arms uncrossing and falling to the side. 

“No,” he mumbles.

“What?” Dean can’t fucking believe it. “Sam, come on!”

“If I said I forgave you, I’d be lying and he’d probably know!” Sam says defensively. 

“For fuck’s sake! I called you a bitch, I do that all the time!” 

“No, you called me a clingy bitch, and said I ruined your hook up!”

“Well, you weren’t nice and cuddly after, now were you?”

“Now, see my point?” The Trickster cuts, “No getting out for you two.” 

“So what, you gonna keep us here until we apologise and hold hands?”

“Mmmm, I was thinking more ‘kiss and make up’. Literally. You boys found the manual I left you, right?”

Dean balks, squints his eyes. He doesn’t like the sound of that, at all. 

“Wha...what of it?” Sam says. The Trickster smirks.

“You have to go through it, once you’re done, that door will pop open!”

“What!” They say at the same time. 

“I know, I know, how can I tell if you do it for real? Well, I ain’t gonna peep, but the manual will cross off anything written on it that’s done in this room and once everything is crossed out you’re good to go! Genius, right?” 

“No!” they both shout. 

“So you don’t mind me watching?”

“No!”

“Boys, why are you against this? Little bit of sexy times might be good for you.”

“We’re brothers,” Dean says. The Trickster shrugs.

“No one cares.” 

Dean opens his mouth but the Trickster waves his hand “Anyway, anything you need is here, you can stay here forever if you feel like it. Adios!” The TV screen turns black, their reflections look dumbfounded and that’s about right. 

“Erm,” Dean starts. Sam ignores him, walks back to the drawer and pulls the manual out. 

“Okay, thirteen positions. How many times can you go in a row?”

“Excuse me?” Dean says, voice coming out a bit high. Sam gets that determined look on his face.

“Look, we can’t possibly stay here forever. I know you...hate when I’m close--”

“--Sam--”

“--but we can’t stay here, and you know it. Let’s deal with it like any other case, just…” Sam trails off.

“Just work it like a job?”

“Yeah.”

Dean fists his hands. Maybe Sam can treat this as nothing but a job, but this will  _ end _ Dean. Having the chance to touch Sam will change him forever, a brand on his soul that he will never be able to erase.

They’re already awkward, they didn’t do it yet and it’s getting to them. Can’t look each other in the eye just considering it. 

“Maybe, we should find another way,” Dean says, looking at Sam’s hand holding the damn manual. Sam’s grip tightens, wrinkling the paper.

“You wanna try shooting at the door some more?” It could be a sarcastic line, but Sam says it with a low voice, a thread of desperation that tells Dean Sam is close to freaking out and he needs a plan to anchor him. The truth is, they have nothing to help them get out, they’re trapped and there’s no way to prove the Trickster was telling the truth, but they have no other choice. Sam’s trembling, his fist around the manual so tight his whole arm is shaking. Dean chances a glance at his face, finds him pale, like he’s going to throw up. 

Dean can bear a lot of things, but seeing Sam scared or hurt isn’t one of them.

“Four times if I haven’t masturbated in over two days.”

Sam’s head whips up, his eyes wide. “What?”

“Well, you asked how many times I can…”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

Awkward isn’t even cutting it now.

“I...don’t think I can keep up,” Sam says, biting his lip and looking at Dean through his bangs. He lifts two fingers, blushes and everts his eyes and fucking hell is Dean turned on. 

He takes a breath, then throws his flannel, followed by his t-shirt, he’s unzipping his jeans when Sam squeaks: “I’ll go clean up.”

He runs to the bathroom and Dean heads to leaf through the manual, hoping for some instructions for the whole sex with a guy thing. Luckily, there are some notes on the first page, and he reads them slowly and carefully. He doesn’t really want anyone to get hurt. The clean up is advised for the bottom, Dean blushes. He hasn’t given that thought but Sam…

Did he read it here or know it beforehand? 

He’s curious, but he decides not to ask. No need to know more details about Sam’s sexual life. He’s going to have more than enough knowledge soon enough. 

Sam takes so long in there Dean starts to grow impatient. Finally, after nearly an hour, Sam emerges out, his hair and skin wet and he’s completely red, naked save for a flimsy towel around his hips. Dean gulps, his heart picking up pace as he notices the smoothness of Sam’s legs. Sam shaved his legs. Dear God, is there any chance Dean is living through this. 

“You…” Dean stares pointedly at Sam’s legs. Nods.

“Thought you might want to...you know, imagine it with someone else. A girl...I..erm, thought the hairy legs might get you out of it.”

That sounds suspiciously like, “You’ve done this before!” Dean blurts, then clasps a hand over his mouth because  _ he wasn’t going to ask, dammit.  _

“Yeah, so?” Sam says, a little pissy now. 

“Hey, no. I’m surprised, is all.” Another thing passes through Dean’s mind. “Do you actually prefer to bottom or are you just sparing the novice?” Dean points at himself. He’s never been so uncomfortable in a conversation about sex, Dad giving him The Talk included. 

“Not sparing you. I like it.” Sam saunters to the nightstand, holds the manual up to show to Dean, one eyebrow hooked. Dean feels his insides tremble. He nods. 

They sit side by side, Sam in his towel, Dean wearing his jeans. The few inches of space between them jarring, filled with something that Dean swears is physical.

“This is for new partners, nothing too ambitious,” Sam comments. They turn the page and Dean whistles.

“Nothing ambitious? You think you can bend yourself like that?”

Sam tilts his head to the side, considering the position. “I think so.” 

Dean whistles again, “Damn. Let’s try something less…  _ ambitious _ for the first one, yeah?” 

“Sure, you’re the newbie.” Sam’s trying a version of his sassy smile, but Dean can see he’s nervous, so he doesn’t snark back.

The position is simple enough, Sam lies on his side with one leg stretched up, opening his ass. Dean tries to look as little as possible as he climbs onto the bed, straddles Sam’s extended leg. He pours too much lube on his hand, slicks himself up until his dick is dripping. He can’t help being afraid of hurting Sam, despite Sam’s many reassurances that he prepped himself. Dean takes a long breath, attempting to calm himself, then pushes the head in. He groans, but catches the noise and bites his lip. Slowly, he slides inch after inch until he’s all the way in.

He’s breathing too hard, every muscle in his body is pulled taut, and he’s a bit worried the nerves might kill his erection. Sam lifts his leg higher, grips the sheets and rocks his hips back, forcing Dean to slam his eyes shut at the intense feeling. Dean moves, slowly then a bit faster, establishing a rhythm. 

It’s too quiet, feels wrong for sex. There’s, the sound of their breathing, the sound of skin slapping on skin, but there’s nothing else. Dean wants to ask Sam if he’s feeling good, if he’s comfortable, if Dean should do something to make it better for him, but he can’t. 

The point of closed eyes and no sounds is to not ruin each other’s fantasy. Dean doesn’t want anyone else, though. The person he’s dreamt about, the reason he bit his tongue every time he was with another so he wouldn’t say the wrong name, is right here, under him and all around him. Hot, sweaty, real. It feels amazing, even when it’s far from the best sex Dean’s had, it feels right because it’s finally Sam.  _ Finally _ . 

Dean opens his eyes, takes the time to look at Sam. He’s got his eyes tightly shut, his teeth digging into the pillow, the knuckles of left hand white from how hard he’s holding on to the sheets. His hair is spilled over the white of the pillow, some locks sticking to his neck. Sweat slides down the tendons of his neck, pooling in between his collarbones. Sam’s dick is just as gorgeous as the rest of him, hard and perfect, bouncing with Dean’s thrusts. 

Sam’s right hand sneaks down, curls loosely around his dick, and he starts jerking himself off. The sight makes heat twist in Dean’s gut, his hips snapping faster, hard and uncoordinated, pleasure building up. He keeps his eyes on Sam’s face, studies his expression, wants to take it all in, behold it and be the reason for it. He can’t handle the fact that behind those delicate lids, Sam is seeing someone else. The fire that idea ignites in him is why he leans down and fucks in at a better angle, relishing the broken, muffled sound that escapes Sam. The way Sam’s face contracts in pleasure, the sharp intakes of air, the way his hips rock back onto Dean’s dick. It’s all too much and Dean’s brain shuts down. 

He settles his hand on Sam’s thigh, slides it up and around, wraps his fingers around Sam’s dick. Sam jumps, his eyes shoot open and he stares up at Dean with something between panic and awe. Dean moves his hand experimentally, slowing his thrusts until they sync with his strokes then picks up again. 

“It’s okay, Sam,” he whispers. Leans down and kisses the round of Sam’s shoulder. Sam relaxes, hips fucking into Dean’s fist, his mouth opening in a silent scream as he comes. Sam’s orgasm triggers Dean’s own, and he rests his forehead on Sam’s arm as his release washes over him. He doesn’t give himself time, pulling out the second it’s over. Sam hisses, then flops onto his back, covers his eyes with his forearm. Dean watches the rise and fall of his chest, licks his lips and wishes he’s got an excuse to actually kiss him. 

“You okay?”

“Eh,” Sam says, mouth curving up in a smile, “I’ve had better.”

“You little shit!”

Sam removes his forearm, his eyes gleaming as he looks at Dean, “Look at you, all upset because you’re not your little brother’s best sex.” He grins then, nervous as it is, it’s breathtaking, dimples on his cheeks and silent laughter. 

Something unfurls in Dean’s chest. He smiles back, exaggerates the snatch of the manual, “I’ll show you better,” he mutters. This time, Sam’s laughter rings clear.

* * *

The next position they try is more of a challenge. Too intimate. Dean is still fidgety. Sam lies on his belly, ass presented and legs spread. Dean’s mouth is dry, he’s choking on air, can’t pick a spot to look at. The tantalizing curve of Sam’s ass, the dip of his spine, the prominent bones under miles of tanned skin. Dean licks his lips, stretches himself over Sam, chest to back, his dick slides in easier this time, no resistance and no hesitation and Sam pushes his ass back, gasps as Dean settles in, completely covering him. 

It’s too warm, too much. Dean can’t fuck properly, limited to barely there ruts and Sam is squirming under him, breathing harder with every movement. Dean risks a kiss to his nape, another one when he meets no protests. His lips are tentative tracing down Sam’s neck to his shoulder, over his shoulder blades. Sam sighs, opens his legs wider, his hand grips the edge of the pillow and it’s all the permission Dean needs.

He hooks one arm around Sam’s shoulder, move his legs so they are on either side of Sam’s and carries more of his weight with his knees, using the new leverage to fuck harder and faster, to angle his thrusts better. Sam curls up, ruts his dick against the bed, his hand twisting in the sheet. Dean covers it with his own, heart hammering against his ribcage as he watches Sam’s fingers part so his can slot in between. He holds on tight, thrusts faster and Sam  _ moans _ . 

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, “Fuck, fuck.  _ Sam _ .” He closes his eyes, losing it completely. Once the name slips out, it’s all real. It’s Sam, god it’s  _ Sammy _ . His orgasm ripples through him, his mind going blank and he barely feels himself thrusting. Sam lets out a high pitched sound, calls out Dean’s name as he comes and Dean’s heart almost stops.

He collapses, his muscles liquifying and he smiles at the way Sam huffs. 

“You’re crushing me,” he complains. Dean grumbles but he forces himself to turn over, ends up on his side, looking at the back of Sam’s head.

They don’t talk, but the next position is better, the one after even more so. They give it a rest when it’s time for dinner, neither of them pointing out the fact that they skipped lunch. 

* * *

Dean is staring. It’s not a strange occurrence in the past two days, but he doesn’t remember having a man’s junk so close to his face before. Sam’s straddling his neck, his dick and balls so close to Dean’s lips. Sam’s head is between Dean’s legs, and Dean can feel his breath on the head of his dick. 

Unlike him, Sam doesn’t seem to have any qualms about this. He licks a long stripe along Dean’s dick, sucks the head into his mouth and moans around it. Dean shivers, grips Sam’s thighs and decides to follow his lead. He starts with experimental licks, right over the prominent vein on the underside, he traces it with the tip of his tongue, up then back down. 

A particularly well placed suck on the base of his dick has his hips bucking up, and Sam holds him down and swallows him to the hilt. It doesn’t seem like Sam minds how slow Dean is going, or the fact the he’s nearly not doing anything at all. Sam is making these little, hurt sounds like he’s enjoying himself, like he’s getting pleasure from sucking Dean off. He chokes himself on it, moans around it, pulls back then dives in again. Dean can’t move, can do nothing but feel the velvet, wet heat of Sam’s mouth.

His fingers dig deeper into the ample flesh of Sam’s thighs, and he lifts his head and takes the tip of Sam’s dick into his mouth, groaning at the first taste of him. Sam keens, his hips jerking. Dean smiles, lets the dick fall out of his mouth and licks his lips. He allows himself to be distracted for a few seconds by how good Sam is working him, then he attaches his lips to one of Sam’s balls and sucks hard, enjoying the moan Sam lets out.

Sam is still focused though, so Dean changes tactics, he molds his palms to Sam’s cheeks, parts them to reveal his hole. This, he’s done before. Eating ass is eating ass, no different rules for this. He blows over the hole, licks over it. Sam freezes, Dean’s dick pops out of his mouth. Dean tries again, scrapes his teeth against the rim carefully, soothes it with quick licks, and another blow of air. Sam moans, pushes his ass back, his thighs trembling around Dean’s head. Taking Dean’s dick back into his throat, Sam bobs his head up and down, fondles Dean’s balls as Dean licks him open. 

Dean adds lube and fingers later, sucks leisurely on Sam’s dick as he slides three fingers in and out of him. Sam’s precome has a hint of sweetness, and Dean nearly loses his mind. He wants to milk Sam dry and swallow everything he has to offer, but not yet.

There’s another position they will try later, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking turns sucking each other off. Dean can’t decide which one is hotter, having Sam come inside his mouth or the visual of having Sam on his knees, lips wrapped around Dean’s dick, wet with spit, red and swollen.

“Fuck, Sam. You gotta stop.”

Sam complies, crawls down Dean’s body until his ass is over Dean’s dick. He cranes his head back, looking at Dean over his shoulder. He looks so delightfully wrecked Dean can’t wait to fuck him. Reverse cowboy is the next position. Sam lifts himself up, sits down on Dean’s dick in one smooth motion, both of them moaning. He braces his hands on Dean’s thigh, moves his ass in small circles, then lifts himself up and starts grinding down. 

Dean’s fuses cross circuit, because this is the hottest thing ever. Sam’s hole stretched around his dick, ass cheeks bouncing as he rides Dean like both their lives depend on it. They don’t last long. 

* * *

Sam is awake.

Dean can tell by his breathing, by the small flickers of muscles, and the way he tenses then tries to relax again. Dean had never, not once, been deceived by Sammy feigning sleep. He knows him too well, knows the rhythm of his breaths and the movement behind his lids and the soft, painfully young expression on his face when he is slumbering. 

He’s radiating heat, and the line of his bare shoulder looks like an invitation in the dark. Dean is braver when the lights are off, so he rolls to his side, plasters himself to Sam’s back and wraps his arms around Sam, daring to draw him closer. He holds on to Sam like it’s ingrained in him, a basic reflex, easier than the curl of his index over the trigger, more natural than the way a knife sinks between the ribs. Sam fits here, against Dean’s body, and like Sam is made to answer him, always responds and reacts; tide and gravity, Sam curves back into him. 

“Dean?” His voice is hushed, hesitant. Dean swallows, plants a kiss right below Sam’s ear.

“There’s spoon-fucking in the manual,” he rasps. Sam shivers, starts stripping his boxers. Dean does the same. They don’t talk, but they’re not silent. They give their pleasure sound, groans and high-pitched, desperate moans. They rock together, slow then fast then slow again, like waves. Tide and gravity. 

Dean’s hand curl around Sam’s dick, jerking him off, and Sam’s fingers tangle with his own, squeeze. Dean allows Sam’s hand to guide him. He’s showing Dean what he likes, teaching him how to touch him. Dean closes his eyes, leans in, noses into Sam’s sweaty hair. He pulls his ear lobe into his mouth, sucks at it then kisses it. Lickes over Sam’s neck, leaves bites and kisses in his wake. He fucks Sam like they’ve got no place to be, and Sam thrashes and moans, guiding Dean’s hand over his dick until he comes. 

Sam’s ass clenches down, giving Dean the push he needs to follow Sam over. 

He kisses over Sam’s shoulder, over his neck and up to his cheek. His hand still on Sam’s dick, covered with his come. Dean moves it, strokes Sam’s flacid dick and Sam whimpers, hips jerking. 

“Hurts?” he asks, makes to stop. Sam clutches his wrist, keeps his hand where it is.

“You can,” he says, “if you want.” Sam lets go of his hand but he grips Dean’s thigh, urging him to thrust in again.

Dean groans. Sam likes it, he likes the edge of pain that comes with being oversensitive, likes having Dean in him. It’s a heady feeling, and he wants to get up and pound Sam into the mattress but he’s melting onto the bed, and his body won’t listen to him. He stays where he is, and they fall asleep wrapped up in each other. 

* * *

“I don’t think I can fuck you while carrying you, Sam. I’m strong, but I’m not  _ that _ strong.”

Sam shrugs, sips his coffee. Dean scowls at the picture of the couple in the manual. They make it look so easy, the assholes. 

“Sam, you’re too heavy--”

“You’re gonna have to try,” Sam quips, smile a bit too smug.

“Really? That’s your contribution?”

Sam takes another bite of his omelette, follows it with a mouthful of coffee before he looks at Dean. “Well, I was thinking--”

“--That’s never good.”

Sam throws him a glare and goes on, “The room is helping us.”

“Huh?”

“You know,” he says, gesturing with his hands to the bed, “we can go on forever, we only stop when our muscles are too sore. The bed doesn’t squeak, we don’t need to pee when we’re going at it. I’m clean down there all the time, and my bowel motion is on the clock,” Sam lists off. Dean’s starting to catch up to the idea but he doesn’t interrupt.

“There are no condoms, so I’m thinking the room took care of that, too. My ass is never sore, man. I would be limping for days if there wasn’t magic involved.”

Dean nods, the idea of physical evidence of what he did to Sam too appealing. “So, you think that the room might… what, empower me?”

“Exactly!” 

“Worth a try.” 

And so they try.

Dean manages to lift Sam up, but barely. He uses the wall to support Sam’s weight. Sam clings with arms and legs, giggling.  _ Asshole _ . 

“Would you just fucking  _ help, _ ” Dean mutters. Sam holds on harder, buries his face in Dean’s neck and shakes his head No. Dean groans, obviously the room isn’t strengthening him. He takes a breath, hefts Sam up, lines his dick and loosens his grip a bit. Sam’s back slides down the wall, his hole opens up, sucks Dean inside and they both moan. 

“Aw, hell,” Dean says. His legs shaking. He thrusts up once, twice, then his knees give out and they fall down. Sam ends up bent, back still to the wall and ass on Dean’s lap, legs around Dean’s flanks. Dean’s legs are folded under him, and somehow, his dick is still in Sam. They stare at each other for a few seconds.

Dean cracks up. Sam’s laughs along.

“My back is dead, Sammy.”

Sam is laughing too hard, shoulders shaking, all dimpled up and bright. Dean’s heart skips a beat, then takes over his body with powerful thuds, turns off Dean’s logical thinking and compels him to lean down and kiss Sam.

It’s barely there, chaste touch of lips. Sam’s smile is soft when Dean pulls back. Dean mirrors it.

“You think this counts as done?” he asks. Sam looks down at them, bites his bottom lip.

“Maybe,” he wiggles a bit, straightens his back against the wall and bends his waist, keeping his ass in Dean’s lap, “if we go on like this, it’s similar enough.”

“Worth a try.”

Strangely enough, the manual crosses it off for them. 

* * *

They’re supposed to be taking a rest, watching a movie, but Dean can’t for the life of him remember which movie is it. There’s nothing in his head but the last position on the manual. The missionary. Just one more time and this is all over. He regrets not getting that one done earlier. Leaving the most intimate position last was such a dumb move. 

Sam’s eyes flick to his. He reaches for the remote and pauses the movie. “You okay?” 

Dean licks his lips. Is he? He looks at Sam, at his easy expression and relaxed shoulders. His hair is all fluffed up, and he looks so good with just a t-shirt and boxers. Casual and yet heartbreakingly, breathtakingly beautiful, so much so Dean chokes up.

One more time then he won’t have this. 

He reaches out, cups Sam’s face, his heartbeats stutter when Sam leans into the touch, a subtle tilt of his head, and his eyes half lidded. He’s looking at Dean from under his lashes, coy and inviting and nothing can stop Dean from closing the space and attaching their mouths. 

The kiss is slow, Dean brushes their lips together, drags his teeth against Sam’s bottom lip, then licks over the seam of his mouth. Sam opens up to him, tongue meeting him halfway. And the kiss deepens, takes Dean under until he can’t breathe. 

They fall, Sam’s back against the couch’s arm, Dean between his legs, still kissing because Dean would rather die than stop kissing Sam. He fists his hand in Sam’s t-shirt, helps him out of it. Their lips finding their way back together the second Sam’s chest is bare. The boxers follow after, they’re both naked. Kissing and rocking against each other.

Sam tastes familiar and right, everything Dean’s ever loved and wanted. Warm and pliant, and gorgeous.

He kisses every inch of skin, Sam’s nose, cheeks and eyelids. The line of his jaw, down his neck and over his heart. He follows the edge of Sam’s collar bones with his teeth, leaves marks to prove that he did this. When this is over, he’ll look and remember that he was allowed to touch. His thumbs fit Sam’s hip bones perfectly, Sam moans and whimpers so pretty as Dean presses down on them, intending to bruise, anticipating the beautiful black and blue. 

He licks over the creases where Sam’s thighs start, kisses over the pale insides of them, sucks hickeys and leaves teeth indents. Sam bucks up, his eyes are wide, staring at Dean. Pupils dilated, breath hitched and cheeks flushed. One hand is gripping the back of the couch, the other reaching out to Dean. Dean leans into it, follows Sam’s direction back up and into an intoxicating kiss. He tries to keep it all in his memory: The ridges of Sam’s teeth, the sweet sweeps of his tongue, and velvet heat. The way his hair feels as Dean threads his fingers through it. 

Sam has a mole near his belly button, another on his right hip and one just above his knee. Dean licks over each one, memorizing the taste and texture. This is the last time. 

Dean’s hand spans perfectly around Sam’s ankle, oddly delicate held like this. Dean kisses the arch of his foot, closes his eyes, plants a kiss on each toe. Last time, he won’t get another chance. 

Dean opens Sam up while they’re kissing, Sam arching up to him, moaning into his mouth, and Dean kisses him deeper. Feels his insides against his fingertips, relishes the way his whole body tenses and jerks when he hits that one spot. He takes Sam into his mouth, makes him come with his tongue and fingers before he places his hands under Sam’s knees and hooks his long legs around his waist. 

It feels unreal, better than anything. Sam takes him like he’s made for it, lifting his ass up and meeting Dean head on, nails scratching Dean’s back and teeth in his neck. It hurts so good. Sam’s kisses hurt even more, his heat burns, his smell addicting. Last time, this is the last time. Dean closes his eyes, hugs Sam as tight as he can without suffocating them both, and Sam clings back, makes damn hope bloom inside Dean’s chest where nothing good should live. The end arrives an eternity too soon. Dean kisses Sam through both their orgams, keeps holding on to him as their breath goes back to normal. 

He props himself up on his forearms, eyes meeting Sam’s. The door lock clicks.

They’re free. 

Dean gets up and goes to the bathroom. He showers quickly and efficiently. Telling himself over and over that it’ll be okay. He had an excuse, he’s gotten more than he’s ever thought he would. No need to be sad. Grateful. Be grateful. 

Sam has all their things packed. He’s dressed to go, placing their duffels on the table. He points to the bed, where he’s left Dean’s clothes and Dean starts dressing. 

The second they leave the room, Sam rounds on him, slams him against the wall and kisses the daylights out of him. Dean blinks up at him, Sam has a smug smile on his face.

“I was thinking,” Sam says as they start walking, “now that we don’t have the room’s magic to help, we’ll have to slow down a bit.”

Dean’s heart jackrabbits. That flicker of hope nestled inside shines brighter. “I dunno, Sammy. I think, now that we’re back to normal, we should do a sex marathon, test our limits.”

Sam turns to him, incredulous. “You serious?”

“Sure. Get our own sex manual and go.”

“You’re insatiable.”

Dean wiggles his brows. Sam huffs, “Fine, but not for at least a week.”

“Sammy!” Dean gasps, “ Don’t let the room kill our honeymoon phase!”

Sam rolls his eyes, “Okay, three days.” 

Dean stops, with a serious tone he says, “Sammy, I…I’ve always...”

Sam smiles, “Yeah, I know now. Me too.” 

Three days later, Sam buys them  _ One hundred and One Sex Positions _ .

-End

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is everything. I'm [Nisaki](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, come say hi!


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